Bleeding Heart
by Amarintha
Summary: Dean is injured, and gets sick. Sammy!Angst, Hurt!Dean... annoyed Bobby. Reviews loved.
1. Chapter 1

_(This is the only fic ever where I am going to label POV switches. It's an integral part of my work. So, enjoy.)_

**Chapter One:  
**

Dean pushed away from the toilet bowl with a slight gag. Heaving himself up off the floor, he splashed water onto his face hoping Sam wouldn't notice. Or would have come in later, or even better, left early. Knowing that he hadn't come in until some time around one or two in the morning, Dean figured Sam would have slept through him puking. It wasn't like he needed to worry about alcohol poisoning any more. Not with his one year ticking slowly away. Brushing his teeth, the same as he did every single morning, Dean forced himself to keep from sighing, or from showing signs of his sleep deprivation and sick stomach. Sammy would get overprotective and yell at him, and he didn't feel like dealing with it.

Having been on a hunt the night before last, they had beaten back the succubus easily enough, despite having failed to save three or four victims of the creature. The guilt weighed heavily on both Dean and Sam, but Dean felt as though his brother wasn't feeling quite guilty enough for their failure to do anything more than kill the demon. Which had resulted in him barhopping, to avoid his brother, and to avoid thinking. It was currently too painful. He'd spent the night in a few different and equally willing beds, but nothing cleansed from him the pain of the loss. Stepping out of the bathroom, Dean grinned at Sam, quirking his eyebrow at his brother's morning hair. It looked like an animal had died and gone to hell perched upon Sammy's head. Dean was tempted to explain this, but let it slide, there would be ample opportunity to mock Sam later. The boy always set himself up, the doofus.

"So Sammy, where to now?" Dean asked, almost saying 'Sammeh' as he slurred the name.

"It's Sam," the younger Winchester snapped, as he almost always did when Dean called him Sammy. It annoyed him to no end to be called 'Sammy' considering he related the name to his childhood –something both boys preferred to forget for the majority of the time. However, it always gave Dean a certain amount of amusement to see how far he could push his brother before getting yelled at. Throwing a pair of socks at Sam's head, Dean grinned when they hit his brother in the face, and then slipped out the door, hearing enraged shouting muffled by the door. Score one for Dean. Not that Sam was the only one capable of playing pranks, the truth be told. He'd pulled some majorly evil stunts more than once. Knowing that his younger brother would find a way to get revenge, Dean debated pulling the "I'm going to die soon, don't be mean to me, you'll regret it" card, but that was just cruel. And it hurt to be reminded of the fact that his time was running out. Hearing Sam's footsteps coming towards the door, he put his hands on the doorknob, holding onto it, and keeping the door steady in its frame, as his brother got increasingly more frustrated with the fact it wouldn't open. Waiting a small amount of time more, Dean let go, the door swung open, and Sam fell backwards to the floor.

Waiting until Sam was up on his feet, Dean took off with a yelp more like a puppy dog than anything else. Eventually Sam's annoyed curses stopped, and turned to laughter, joining Dean. No longer having enough energy to pound his brother, Sam put his hands on his knees and panted. "You suck," Sammy informed his brother between gasps for air.

_--DeanPOV_

My headache was so much worse from the run, but it was worth it, to see Sammy smile like that. I do love him, for all he's my idiot baby brother, but…it's my job to take care of him, and to protect him no matter what. I guess it's almost counter productive, what I did. Sacrificing myself to save him, but…there'll be no one to look after him when I'm gone. Dad's gone, too, after all. He made a deal for me. Maybe Sammy's right, maybe I _do_ suck. Irrelevant. Woah, I used a big word, okay bigger than usual. I look over at him, wondering if he's really tired, or just faking it. Because I don't feel like being thrown into the grass and sat on until I promise not to do whatever it was that set him off ever again. Because, for one thing, I don't like breaking promises, and then for another, I hate making stupid promises I have no intention of keeping. And Sammy's fat. I always feel like my ribs are going to be broken when he does things like that. I love my brother so much.

--_SamPOV_

Dean just stands there, like he's not winded at all. He comes in some time well past midnight, and he stinks of sex, booze, and cigarettes. That always means he was at a bar. Because Dean doesn't smoke, and he tends not to choose chicks that do. He tells me they taste bad. I don't really want to think about his sexcapades. I operate just fine without being further scarred for life. At least I'd like to think so. Y'know, I always figured that Dean and I would go out together in this huge blaze of glory, not…not with a sad little whimper of despair. But, that's life, I guess. For hunters at least. Bobby was sure pissed when he found out, from what Dean says. Told me Bobby was gonna throttle him and everything, actually shook him, too. Yelled at him plenty. Good, I found myself thinking. Someone had to yell at him. Lord knows he won't listen to me, the pain in the ass.

--_Omniscient Narrator _

"Dean you're such a jerk."

"Well, you're just a little bitch," Dean said with a shrug. It always amused Dean to call his brother 'bitch' and to hear 'jerk' in return.

"So, I heard about some hunt up near Seattle. Some sort of ocean monster."

"Seattle? You're freakin' joking! We gotta go to a beach, where there're beach babes, but no, we have to go to the same miserable little place, with it's icy cold freeze-you-to-death-in-an-instant-cold waters…Sammy, you _suck_ at picking hunts," Dean grumbled irritably.

--_SamPOV_

It's my turn to drive. Dean's asleep in the passenger seat. I stare at him, instead of the road for a bit, remembering what Bobby said to me the last time we were at his place. We stayed for a week, and sleeping in the same bed for a full seven days was the strangest experience of my life. Really. I don't think we've ever been in one place so long. At least not somewhere comfortable where we sort of managed to belong. I remember Dean sitting there drawing, cars of course. Then again, I don't know what I expected. I remember Bobby asking me about Dean's good qualities.

"Sam, what can you actually say that's nice about your brother?" He sounded irritated with me, I'd been complaining about Dean, blowing off steam. I do that sometimes, but Dean has to go and bitch to chicks about me to get laid…I don't think telling Bobby my frustrations are the same thing.

"I guess he's stubborn…and really good at getting laid."

Rolling his eyes, Bobby sighed. "Ever occur to you he's smart, too?"

Raising my eyebrow, I think about it. Well, yeah, Dean's not stupid. He can put a car together –and he has, he knows more about guns than anyone should ever need to. It takes me a while, I have to admit. Dean's smart. Going through with this train of thought, just because Dean never worried about school didn't mean he was stupid. It's hard for me to think about that. I'm the one who got a scholarship to Stanford, and Dean's the one who barely graduated high school. But … he was trying to do what Dad wanted, what would make Dad happy. Learn the things that Dad wanted him to, so even if my brother had cared about school, he never would have had the chance. I didn't care about what Dad wanted for me, and Dean did. Well that totally didn't screw us over when we were young. Come to think of it, Dad got mad at me for having straight A's, because I drew attention to myself, and I think Dean probably got bad grades so Dad would leave me alone. I hope I'm wrong. I usually hope I'm wrong when it comes to our dad. I'm still shocked Dean ever graduated, though.

Focusing back on the road, I know in about an hour it's Dean's turn to drive.

--_Omniscient Narrator_

Driving calmly, Dean ignores his brother, sleeping in the passenger seat. The soft thrum of the engine coupled with the gentle sound of the tires over new pavement comforts the older Winchester. It's just a good sound, and it means the world is being easy. When the road is happy and open, Dean is, too. North Dakota to Seattle isn't the fastest drive, but it's not like he's ever minded. They're safe, nothing attacking them yet.

--_DeanPOV_

I should probably find a motel soon. The sun's starting to come up, and even though I've let Sammy sleep an extra four hours, I don't think he's going to be a safe driver. I barely am, and I know it. Not wanting to be responsible for us getting in a wreck, I turn off at the first motel I see. It's not like we're paying for anything anyway, fake credit cards and ID's take care of everything for us. Sometimes I feel guilty about it, and then other times I choose to think its compensation. We are being paid. Illegally, but we are. "Sammy, wake up," I say, shaking his shoulder. Stupid girl, he's got his face pressed against the glass and he's drooling. That's disgusting. "Bitch, wake up!" I snap, this time really meaning the word for its literal meaning. Rolling my eyes I have so many ways I could wake him up. Instead, I get out. Slamming the door hard, I walk over to Sammy's side and wrench the door open, watching him first wake up, look up in shock, and then hit the gravel. Satisfied that he won't sleep through my telling him to get his stupid ass up, I grab my duffel out of the back seat, and head towards the inside of the motel. The crunch of gravel behind me warns me before Sam can attack. However, I'm an idiot, and don't anticipate the fact he might realize I can hear him.

--_O.N._

Sam threw his duffel bag hard into Dean's back, annoyed at the rude and unpleasant awakening. "Jerk!" He snapped, kicking some gravel at his brother before moving quickly into the motel. Dean can't retaliate with people watching.

"Bitch," Dean replies easily, following his brother. Moving into the motel, they are given a room, and walking back outside of the lobby, Dean glances at Sammy. "Wow. Sam, I think we found the missing link….and all this time here I was thinking it was you," he says with a certain sparkle in his eye, before darting into the motel room and closing the door, locking it. Hearing a thud, he knew that Sam had meant to hit him. Hearing the swearing, Dean chuckled to himself. He'd let his brother in very soon. Just, not quite yet. When everything was finally silent, he opened the door, staying behind it, and circumventing any chance of Sammy tackling him. Not that Sam bothered. He knew that Dean was just as wily as he was, and he wasn't stupid enough to hurt himself further. He'd get Dean back later, and payback was going to be a bitch. Both Dean and Sam go through their usual night routine, setting up the room and preparing for sleep. Not that either one really sleeps anymore.

--_DeanPOV_

I'm really tired, but for some reason I haven't been sleeping well. It's these nightmares. Having dreams about what hell is going to be like. And for some reason, I just don't want to sleep through these. Considering I've had a few coffees it's not like I'm going to sleep for a while anyway. Sitting up in the bed, I 'borrow' Sammy's laptop. And no, I'm not looking at porn, which surprises even me a little. Instead, I'm looking up lore on Hell, and what it's like. The demons, the torture, and hope it's not like _Little Nicky_. Because while I may not be as bad as Hitler, the demons certainly hate me more than they ever hated him, and if a pineapple up the ass is his punishment, what're they going to do to me? Although that movie was killer funny. Did I just say 'killer funny'? Oh god…beer. I should have a beer. Just one. Because I don't feel like having a sick stomach tonight. Not with everything else, because I just haven't been feeling well. My little life ticker is running out. Like the…the grains of sand in the little…hourglass. Those things. The hourglass. I'm running out of sand Sammy, and each little grain is taking a part of me away. I'm so torn up on the inside. Wow, I've turned into a sissy. Time to be a man again, Dean. God, grow up.

I don't know when it happens, but soon enough I'm asleep. Well, I assume I am, because in my waking hours I generally don't spend my time in chains. Not even for the really hot chicks. I'm not really into the leather and chains thing. Not even the pink fluffy handcuffs some chicks dig. Not after having been cuffed for real more than once. And shot. Sonuvabitch that hurts. And then Sammy had to be all protective, and I was fine. Hell I was better in that fight then he was, even with a lame shoulder. Well he's my little sister, and maybe one day he'll grow a pair. Until then, I'd better be around to take care of the candy-ass. But in my dreams…it hurts. God it hurts so bad, it's like my skin's being burned off inch by inch, layer by layer, and I can't move. I know on a more conscious level that because I've suffered third degree burns before, it's only my imagination re-conjuring the pain in my subconscious where I'm unable to escape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

--_SPOV_

Waking up, I hear Dean tossing and turning. Not his fault, he moans sometimes in his sleep. Asking for mom, or dad. Once even me, and twice Bobby. Probably because it's always Bobby saving our asses. I'm not sure how to wake Dean up without letting on that I know he's having nightmares. A solution presents itself, and I reach over and jerk his pillow out from under his head, letting it fall to the ground while I turn with the motion and roll to face away from him, feigning sleep.

Head hitting the mattress, Dean sat up in the darkness, confused. Not at all distressed to be pulled from the nightmares, he is simply unable to figure out what woke him. Vaguely annoyed, he tries to find his pillow, eventually searching the floor. "Son of a bitch," he mutters, reaching out to snag it off the ground.

--_DPOV_

There's some pain in my stomach. Cramping probably. Good thing I decided not to have that last beer before bed. Sammy and I forwent breakfast, and lunch…and dinner. Hey, wait, forwent? Since when do I say things like that? My stomach heaves anyway, so I quickly get up and manage to make it to the bathroom, dry heaving. The door's too far away to close, so there's not much I can do other than hope Sammy doesn't wake up. The convulsions that rip through my body do nothing more than cause pain, I can feel bile rising in my throat. Well, technically it's not bile, because that's in your liver…or is it the kidneys? But I know it's not really bile. My stomach's heaving, and there's nothing coming up. I guess I'm grateful or something, maybe. But it hurts so bad. When the heaving stops, I haul myself up, splashing my face with water, and brushing my teeth. Sam's awake. But he's faking it. Slipping out of the darkness of the bathroom, I make my way carefully to the light switch, and flip it on after shutting my own eyes and covering them with my hand. I hear a steady swath of curse words cutting the peace of the night. Well, there had been peace at one point. Maybe. I grin. Switching the light off again, I slip into my bed, curling up after tucking the pillow securely under my head and wrapping my arm around it to ensure I don't knock it off the bed again. I'm tired, and nightmares are still better than no sleep at all. I think. Maybe.

--_SPOV_

My retinas still burn from the lights. I can see the room blasted in neon colors in my eyes as I close them tightly. What the hell possessed him to do that?

I'm worried about Dean. Then again, I almost always am. He's such a bull headed … there are no words. And I know a lot of words, trust me. But he's sick. Or whatever, he's not doing well. Then again…time … tick tock tick tock Sammy. You're screwed. You and Dean are screwed. He's not going to have enough time, and he won't fight. Not hard enough…it's impossible to save someone who doesn't want to be saved. I hear that all the time from those religious people on television. Dean doesn't want to be saved, and he doesn't want to live. Why not? Sometimes, I feel like it's something I did. I know it's not, because…well, it is. He gave up his life for mine. Poetic, huh? Makes Dean a Christ figure in literature and stuff. I'm sure he'd appreciate the irony of that. Maybe I should point it out to him, and then when he goes to Hell, I can summon his soul out and return him to his body, and well, he will have gone through everything but the returning to Heaven full bodied, right? And if we find a full bodied wine, would that be good enough?

My thoughts are nonsensical, and not helpful. I need the sleep, just as much as Dean. He never seems to have trouble getting to sleep. It's the staying asleep Dean struggles with. And apparently the not dry heaving. Soon enough he's up again, I can hear him trying to be quiet, but he's gagging and again doesn't have time to close the door. I get up, knowing he'll just snap at me or something, but … he's too tired to be doing this to himself. Pulling a water bottle out of my duffle, I almost trip over my shirt. Smooth Sammy, way to be a pig. Just because Dean leaves clothes lying around doesn't mean you should.

--_DPOV_

I'm puking again. This is fun. Not. Sammy's up. Guilt washes over me, enveloping me entirely, and I dry heave again. Yay, this is fun, can I do this more often? Sarcasm. Fake joy. Ugh. Pain. Well at least my abs will stay toned without my having to do anything. I'm so exhausted, my head drops, and I almost bang my face into the porcelain of the toilet bowl. Fortunately Sammy grabs my shoulder, releasing me almost seconds after the touch. I would have bitten him, I swear. Considering I'm too weak to punch him, or to stand up and kick him in the balls. He'd deserve it, he does that again. I don't need taking care of. For all my whining I'm thankful, because I don't like the idea of having a bruise on my face because I hit it into the rim of the toilet. Smooth. That would be soo hot for the ladies. I fight back another bout of dry heaves. Sure. He's kneeling on the floor next to me, pressing a water bottle into my hand. "God Sammy, you're so gay," I tell him, gasping a little, but all the same I'm thankful for the water bottle, and I take it from him without further complaint. I know he won't be playing any tricks until I'm done puking. Considering he still owes me for earlier.

I can hear the water running, and a wet wash cloth hits me in the face. It's nice and cool. Pressing it to my forehead, I wipe my face off, along with my neck. The sensation is good. However, I didn't need it thrown at my face like that. Flinging it back, I'm tempted to plunk it into the toilet water first. It connects with a wet slap, and I rest my forehead against the rim of the bowl. This sucks ass. When I get to Hell, I'm going to have a word with the man upstairs, right after, ask him why the hell he thought it was a good idea to make us humans so damn fragile, where we're sick all the time! And why he doesn't take his minions in hand. Or whatever. Y'know, I'm pretty sure God let all the demons loose on purpose. Try to even out how much destruction humans cause.

Although, wouldn't that defeat the whole purpose of God in the first place? Taking a few sips of the water Sam gave me, I start to feel better. Pulling more water into my body, I disregard the idea of taking small sips, and drink quickly, just pulling the water into my parched body. That might be why I'm sick. Drinking coffee dehydrates you. It's diur….diur…diurec…I don't know. Sammy would, but I'm not going to ask. I just know it messes up your blood vessels and makes you have to pee a lot. I hate being the dumb one.

--_SPOV_

Dean's probably just dehydrated from all the coffee. I keep telling him it's a diuretic, but does he listen? No. Of course not, why would he ever listen to me? I just got straight A's, brilliant SAT scores, a full ride to Stanford. Oh. My. God. I am the stuck up college bitch Dean always teases I am. No wonder everyone thinks I'm a pretentious ass. No, wait, no one thinks that but Dean. Rolling my eyes, I allow myself to go back to sleep. It's not a big deal to me, not at all. If Dean's only dehydrated, he'll be fine soon enough. I can hear him crunching the bottle and throwing it away. If he had any sense he would have refilled it and drank more. But your stomach only holds so much anyway. The rustling sounds of him crawling back into bed comfort me some.

--_O.N._

It's good to be sleeping. Unfortunately, if you're a Winchester, sleep doesn't ever last long or go well.

When the older boy wakes up again, it's to vomit up blood. His stomach pulls tightly as his body heaves. The blood runs over his lips and over his chin, down his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. And that's all he knows before waking up in what is clearly a hospital.


	3. Chapter 3

_(Please note that I enjoy the switching of perspectives, because I don't ever like a book when it focuses on one point of view. I get bored out of my skull. I tried putting in breaks for the POV, but it just breaks the flow. I know it's going to confuse the majority of you, but you'll either catch on or give up. I hope you all catch on. This starts with Dean, and moves into Bobby's POV) _

**Chapter Three: **

"Oh, f," I comment, before having to cough, hard. I feel like my lungs are on fire. Why my lungs, I have no clue, so don't ask. In fact, I don't remember anything from thinking 'well, this has happened before' to this moment. Sitting up, it's not too bad. I'm okay. My chest hurts, Sam's asleep in the corner. Bobby's stuff is here, too. I'd recognize his duffel anywhere in the world.

--_BobbyPOV_

Sometimes I hate hospitals more than usual. Especially when John's boys are in them. I can't help but think that I could have done better. And kept them out of more trouble. Sure, I would have armed them against the darkness, taught them everything I knew, but they'd have lives. Sam would be at Stanford with his living girlfriend where he belongs, and Dean would be a mechanic with a girlfriend and a home. Most importantly, both would fit in somewhere, and not be here every other week. I need more time to work on my 'theory' that all hospitals are actually the same, and connected by a rip in the time space continuum.

My attention is then drawn back to a nurse. "Yes, I'm the kids' uncle, I've known them since they were little, and as you can see, I'm listed on here as the medical contact." My voice, as always, is gruff and controlled. Right now I'm angry. The last hunt they were in, Dean cracked some rips and didn't know it. Then got dehydrated and the coughing cracked his ribs worse and it punctured a lung. The idjit. He must have been in pain. I could have killed him, not saying anything to Sam, although as close as those boys are, I'm surprised that Sam didn't pull an Obi-Wan and pick up on his brother. Then again, when Dean wants to hide something, he does a bang up job.

"When can I see the boys?" I ask, keeping the impatience from my voice. I'm proud of myself, being that calm and controlled. Beat that. They lead me in, I see Sam sleeping. I've already been by, but figured I should go about it the normal route. Considering neither one of them needs me being hauled out by the security guards. I don't need it, either. I'm not as young as I used to be, and I'm edging past my prime. Dean might say I'm over the hill, but I'm still doing all right for myself. Better than him and Sam. Damnit boys. Re-entering the room, I sigh, glancing at them. They've been pushed too long and too far. I know I wouldn't have done much better, but watching Sammy would not have been Dean's priority in life. I wouldn't have done that to him.

It's strained their relationship far beyond what most relationships can stand. But it's bonded them as well. It confuses even me, and I've been around a while. But these two? I thank the nurse as she leaves, and sit in a spare chair to watch over them both. This is something I could have done for them John never did. I could have been there. At least I have, and had, a base of operations. Being moved around the way they were, the boys never learned what it meant to have a home. "Home is where the heart is" is a bunch of bullshit. Your heart can only take so much wear and tear before it's used up, and if it doesn't have anywhere safe or familiar to go, it doesn't have a home, and you've lost your heart, and ability to love. Not that I'd ever explain any of this, or say it out loud. Not to anyone. But the two of them, for all they don't fight too much, they do fight. And they've been pushed in ways no one should ever be pushed. Dean had to be John for Sammy, and it ruined a family dynamic, because when John was around, Dean was displaced. From that I know that Sam can't have ever had a good handle on who was in charge, or who 'dad' really was, because it was usually Dean, but then John came around and everything was upside down. Damn it John! Rubbing at my eyes and then my beard, I look over at Dean. Cheeky little bastard's awake. Not looking at me, though. Never is, just looking for Sam.

"I see you're up."

Dean's head snaps to the other corner of the room and he winces slightly from a headache. Smiling at me, the smile turns into a bright grin, indicating he's about to do something to Sam. Then he catches my warning look, and Dean settles back into the bed.

"So, hear you did something incredibly stupid."

"I've been hurt before. Never broke anything…"

"Oh don't be a dumbass, Dean. You knew full well that you broke something."

God these boys. I'm gonna kill 'em before anything else even gets a shot at 'em. I swear, and I don't care what the cops try and do. Although I might be doing them a favor, killing them, that is. They wouldn't have to try and fight through every single day anymore.

"I get hurt plenty Bobby, I didn't know. I wasn't coughing, I just thought I was sore or something, I didn't know!" Dean's childish protests woke up Sam, who glances first to Dean, then at me.

--_Omniscient Narrator_

"Dean, you okay?" Sam's up on his feet, moving to Dean, where he hesitates at the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's get out of here already," Dean comments, starting to tug at the IV already. Considering nothing else is monitoring his status. After the surgery he'd been fine. And the doc hadn't been worried.

"How about you don't do anything else bullheaded and stupid, and you let the doctors and nurses decide when you're doing well enough to get out of here?" Bobby snaps, not at all amused by Dean's gung-ho attitude. Then again, neither is Sam.

"Seriously, Dean, why don't you-"

"Shut up, both of you. I'm fine. Everyone knows I'm fine, let's just have me go, get to my baby, and we can move on to our next hunt. People are dying in Seattle-"

This time Bobby interrupts, "I set another hunter who was up in Edmonds on the case. Actually it's three, you haven't met them, and I hope you don't. They're more towards Gordon's type, but without the crazy."

Dean's face is furious, but he doesn't have any response. Other than a string of curses that Bobby ignores, turning to Sam, discussing Dean's condition. The two talk as Dean falls silent, unable to protest further, or get up from the bed without tripping the monitors. He's supposed to stay put and rest after the surgery. Sam asked that it be made sure he did.

"Lookit, I'll get a nurse in here to look in on you, and that'll be good enough. You leave when it's okay for you to leave."

--_DeanPOV_

I know Bobby and Sam have won at this point. But it doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. In fact I'm pretty pissed. Why're they always doing this to me? Is it fun for them, keeping me in hospitals all the time. I get a paper cut and the two of them fuss over me. Okay, machete cut. It wasn't deep, and I didn't pass out. 40 stitches my ass! I'm fine, I was fine then, too! I slept fine, I ate fine, in fact I didn't even scar from it, and let me tell you, I have scars! But no. I have to be treated like a baby, because I set myself on the road to perdition. Well, that was my choice! I don't see why that turns me into some invalid! That's not fair or right…huffing, I slip out of bed while Bobby and Sammy are off finding a nurse. Flipping off the equipment carefully, I slide the IV out of my arm. Impromptu medic field training from my dad, and various other hunters Bobby included, means I'm good at things like this. I dress, feeling fine. Nothing. Not even light headed. Although was it night time went I got up? Then everything goes dark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: **

Next thing I know I'm in the bed again, changed out of my clothes, by the way, ew, and Sam and Bobby are still in my room. I have a theory that Life is out to get me, and that I did something to piss It off. I suppose this means I lose my argument about leaving this place as soon as possible, huh? Well, whatever. I'll get over it. Or maybe not. I'm getting out of here. Tonight. I want to leave, I just have a bad feeling. Or maybe I've just spent too much time here in my life. Way too much. Dad…Dad died in a hospital. I almost died in a hospital. And all the times Sammy's been here. I've been here, we've been sitting there, so much younger, Dad lying in the bed in front of us, breathing with a monitor. Suddenly I just want out. I can't take the memories. Especially the memory of Le Grange, the faith healing. That girl…god, she was supposed to be healed, but that guy would have died…we had to…we had to stop it. She didn't deserve to die, but instead Roy chose me. Guilt…fear, _Dead things should stay dead!_ Echoes around my head over and over. Rolling over, I search for something, unable to stand up. I'm actually tethered to my bed. I can barely roll. Nonetheless, my stomach heaves and I can barely puke over the side of the bed. I'm sorry, I really am, up to a point. They had no right to strap me down, for one thing, for another, so I can't even roll over? What if I have to pee? And, I find myself throwing up again. Okay, there's an IV in me to keep this from happening, I'm not supposed to be dehydrated anymore. Maybe I'm just reacting to the meds. Sometimes I do that, but usually it's Sammy who can't handle his morphine.

"Dean, you awake?"

Several answers come to mind, none of them at all pleasant or friendly. Some of them starting with 'f' and ending in 'you' come to mind. If he were closer, I would sock him in the face, same as the last time he asked me a stupid question like that. I'm still gagging a little. Mainly because um, hello. Bobby gets up first, it's always Bobby, freeing me and helping me sit up. Unfortunately, I'm not done heaving up my guts. But I can lean away. Thank god I'm really too heavy to be picked up, because that would be humiliating.

"Damnit Dean," Bobby snaps, like it's my fault my stomach seems to enjoy tormenting me. Oh. It's the blood. I didn't even notice. I think something's killing me. Or else...whatever they fixed before isn't quite so fixed. My ribs cracked, right? Then I got sick and made them crack into my organs. Guess that's my fault, too, huh Bobby? I didn't know they were broken. Sam's gone and pushed the call button, the little bastard. Nurses are flooding in, pushing Bobby away, pushing me onto my back, which makes things worse because I start choking on my own blood. Sam freaks out and starts yelling, Bobby's shouting at Sam, and then nothing.

Opening my eyes, I don't remember anything. I'm awake, in the hospital, I'm pretty sure I've just been in surgery again, I have that loopy morphine feeling in my system. IV. Check. No Bobby or Sammy. Sam?!

"Sam?" My voice is so weak, I curse myself a little. On the inside. There's no point to swearing if not even a mouse can hear you. "Sammy?" And my voice rises in pitch, that's attractive. I can't reach the call button. Where's Sam and Bobby? Where's their stuff? Did they leave me here? Alone. I don't want to be alone. Especially…the steady sound of sand dropping into the lower bulb of the hourglass…don't leave me alone. I push myself up anyway, ignoring the staggering pain. I won't stand up. I'm not too stupid. Really, I'm not. Looking around the room, I'm wearing an oxygen mask. Pulling it off, I try calling again. "Sam? Sammy!?" My voice is still frantic, and I'm not sure if I'm doing it on purpose or on accident. Breathing deeply, I will myself not to freak out. I won't freak out. At all, no matter what. I won't. Sitting up, it hurts like a bitch. Pulling up the stupid hospital gown thing, I examine my chest and stomach. Two tiny holes in my body, I'm guessing. There's two gauze pads, one nearer to my stomach, I'm assuming I had done something, and the other is higher up on my chest, nearer my shoulder, actually closer to my lungs. Hearing someone walking down the hallway, I jerk the blankets up to my waist, figuring I don't need to be exposed, but I continue to examine the gauze. I haven't bled through, so everything is probably very small. I'm not sure if I'm comforted or not, but that's two surgeries.

I just give up on calling. Sammy and Bobby'll come back for me. They won't abandon me. Letting my mind wander, I realize that I don't dream anymore. Sure I have nightmares, but I don't dream anymore. I used to dream about mom. And dad, sometimes. How things were like before, and Sammy was much smaller. Or sometimes he's older, about five, and I'm nine. We're a family. But not anymore. Not again, I don't think. I wonder what Sammy dreams about. Does he ever dream about mom? Did he ever…? Or was it only Jess. Does Sammy dream anymore, or has he lost that hope, too? I hope not. God Sammy, you keep dreaming.

After a little bit, I'm bored. No one's coming, and I have no way of calling anyone, other than the nurses. Am I just having another nightmare? Carefully, I slide my legs over the side of the bed, and then freeze for a while. I don't need to fall over again. Standing up carefully, I keep one hand on the bed, the other goes to straighten the stupid gown. I'm seriously not happy. Where are my clothes? Just my jeans. Or my boxers at least. C'mon people. This …this is not good. I edge toward the hallway, pressing my back to the wall, and peering around the doorframe. No one's there. Empty. My heart speeds up again, and all I want to do is panic. Actually, I want my dad. I don't care how lame that is, and I know I sound like a little girl, but…I miss my dad, and he…well actually he probably would have left me alone. But, he traded his life for mine. _Dead things should stay dead!_ But…he did love me, in the end. I move into the hallway. Seriously, I hope my ass isn't sticking out. It's a nice ass, but no one gets a free viewing. They have to be hot, young, and female, and already a little tipsy and in bed with me before that's okay. Where's Sammy? My hand goes behind my back to make sure the stupid hospital gown is closed. It is, nothing's exposed except part of my shoulders. I don't like this. Not only is it entirely emasculating, but it's cold and uncomfortable. What the hell, where is everyone? There. Lobby. Okay. Turning around I face the hallway I'd just come out of, half expecting to see the words 'morgue' or something above it. That would so be my life. No, not even ICU. It's not even labeled. Part of me wonders if Sammy and Bobby snuck me there to keep me away from the doctors, so we could slip out later. But, then again, why leave me alone? It doesn't look that abandoned.

In the lobby, plenty of people notice me wandering around, an IV in my arm, and clearly not dressed. Several women pause to look at me, but I'm covered. And then there's Sam. "Sam!" I snap, putting as much force as I can into my voice, only to hear it crack, irritated, I look around for Bobby.

"Dean! You're up, they moved you, because we were disturbing you, and I couldn't…you okay? You shouldn't even be up!"

"Where're my clothes, where's Bobby…" and why'd you leave me? Huh? I couldn't …I'd rather be dead than have to lose you, and here I was thinkin'…thinkin' you'd left me. You ass.

"I've got your clothes, Bobby's with the Impala, waiting for me. I was going to find you and get you out. Dean, you're really pale, sit. There're enough chairs," Sam's voice is all worried. Aww, how cute. Not. I give him my best attempt at the evil eye. I'm pretty sure it failed. Abandoning me in that creepy empty…I hate hospitals. I remember. _Dad…dad wake up. Dad, please wake up. What's wrong with him? Why won't my dad wake up? What'd you do to him? What's wrong…shh, Sammy it's okay. Don't worry, dad'll be fine._

"Dean? Dean! Jeez dude, stoppit, you're frickin' scaring me!" I snap into the present. Sam's freaking out. What a baby.

"Sorry dude. I'm okay. Really," I grip his forearm tightly, reassuring him that I'm here and alive and safe. I'm always okay. It's always Sammy that isn't. I can feel the ache in my chest when I think about how I almost lost him. Like the knife in his back was in my own gut, wrenching and blinding pain. _What'm I supposed to do?_ I'll always remember. Even in hell, I'll remember that. How could I ever forget?

My stomach heaves again, and I can feel the stitches pull through my skin, but it doesn't hurt as bad as before, and there's no blood. Oh, no, I lied. There it is, spreading out across the front of the stupid-ass hospital gown. Sammy, please please put your coat over my shoulders. I prefer to keep my ass to myself. Especially considering a few male nurses always give me their number, and if I wanted it up the ass, I would tell them. However, I don't, and I don't want them fantasizing. Then I'm puking up blood again, and Sam's yelling and shouting. Bobby comes in and starts swearing at me. All I hear is 'damnit Dean!' over and over. I'm pulled up and heaved onto a stretcher, "Sammy!" I shout, suddenly I'm scared. I won't admit it to him, but I am. What's going on? They're sticking things on my face, and there's blood in my mouth, and it's that copper taste. Sammy, don't leave me. Please don't leave me again. He does stay with me, and I feel his hand holding mine. Only for a few seconds. He's forced to move away again, and I struggle off the stretcher, "No, he's my brother, I've gotta protect him!"


	5. Chapter 5

(If you guys reaaaaaaally want...it's _possible_ I could add another chapter or two. Maybe.)

**Chapter Five:**

--_SamPOV_

Dean's delirious. I can tell. And here Bobby and I were thinking we were getting him out of here. What's wrong with him? The said they fixed all the internal damage caused by his ribs, but here he is, and he's just as sick as when we brought him in. I can practically feel the rage bubbling up beneath my skin as I sit in his room, fuming. The doctors are running around, after sedating him. Standing up I stand over him, taking his hand in mine. He won't know, and the moment he starts to wake up…I'll be back in my chair.

"Dean, I don't know if you can hear me, but, you'll be okay. And we'll get you out of here, I promise." Sure, he'd mock me until I punched him if he knew what I was doing. But all the same, I brush back his sweat soaked hair, wishing I could do something, Dean's a very clean person, despite how disgusting I sometimes think he is. He'd hate it if he were awake right now. But it's all for show. Like when he sticks those huge amounts of food in his mouth, he always keeps his lips closed. I still haven't figured out how he does it, but maybe he just has really big cheeks. Like a squirrel. I'm sure he'd appreciate the observation. Okay, I'd so get punched in the face, or wake up to find something unpleasant in my bed or in my hair, but all the same. Bobby walks back in, and I look at him. I guess I just gave him what Dean calls the 'puppy dog eyes' because Bobby comes over and claps his hand on my shoulder.

"He'll be okay Sam, he always is." But I want to scream. He's never 'okay'. Dean has never once been 'okay'! Not since mom died. Not since dad traded his soul, and especially not since I was stabbed! If Dean had ever been 'okay' he wouldn't be always beating himself up! He wouldn't cry out in his sleep, begging for it to stop, or calling out for dad and mom. Sometimes even me. It makes my heart ache, and I suddenly feel like retching. God Dean, I'm sorry. Looking at Bobby, something in my eyes makes him take a step back.

"You all right there, Sam?" he asks, his voice almost guarded.

"Yeah Bobby, I'm fine. Me'n Dean, we're always fine," I tell him. I'm not like my brother, I won't fake being okay all the time. Well, I guess I try, but I'm just really bad at it. He'd laugh at me if he could hear us. Seriously, I can't believe I just said that. The irony of it would make him laugh until he busted the stitches again. Which might be a bad thing, come to think of it, he's in enough pain.

"Dean?" he looks like he's starting to wake up. "Hey there, likin' the morphine?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"There's an animal on your head…and I don't think the truck was very kind to him," Dean tells me. There's that lazy grin on his face that tells me he's high, and it takes a few seconds for my relief to turn into indignation.

"Dean, an animal didn't die on my head!" Then he chuckles weakly.

"I know, dude…but every time…it gets you every time," his words are just the slightest bit slurred. I swear there's no drug or alcohol Dean can't handle. Then again I don't envy him when his liver…yeah, because in a few months like his liver's going to matter.

"Gawwd you're an ass," I tell him. Just to make him laugh. "C'mon dude, heal already, y'pansy!" It's good to see him smile.

"If I wasn't hopped up on drugs right now, I'd kill ya." It's that smile, the one where he doesn't quite show his teeth, and both eyebrows go up, and he looks amused. It's also the one, I note, where you can't tell he has dimples. Funny to notice that now. Good thing Dean can't read minds, I find myself thinking, pursing my lips in irritation.

"Heeey, Bobby!"

"Idjit," Bobby replies easily, I find myself smiling, and Dean relaxes. I didn't notice things had been tense. Not at all. It's good to see Dean looking more calm. I grin at Bobby first, then smile at Dean, my best 'caring' smile, and lay my hand on his cheek. I'm trying to freak him out, for the record. In case there's a record somewhere cataloguing all our actions. Just in case.

"Sammy, you have three seconds before you lose that hand," Dean says, his voice steady, and you'd never know he was loaded up with drugs. Patting his cheek once or twice, I pull my hand away before his snaps up, grasping at the air. Usually he's faster than me. Sure, he's shorter, but he's faster. Less mass. But I like to think I'm stronger. And smarter. But I have no idea how true any of it is. Lord knows when we got in the fight because of the trickster he sure as hell kept my money away from me. Man, that was so not cool. Although the look Dean is giving me. If only his eyes would focus properly…maybe the glare would be more threatening. Gotta love morphine.

_--DeanPOV_

Sitting up so I can take a swing at Sam makes me feel better. The room doesn't go dark. Nothing changes. I'm still seeing colors brighter than usual, and I'm floating and not in pain –for once- but everything's okay. For now. It's always 'for now'… then you hear the 'dun dun dun' in the background. Seriously. Okay, maaaybe its' the morphine. Just maybe. I'm watching my brother like a hawk. The moment he's in range, wham! Damn, he must be on to me. I settle against the pillows, after having rearranged them to support me better when I sit up. Acting my most smug, "So, how many hot nurses gave you their numbers for me?" I could use a little action. The kind that ends well and without pain. I'm not into pain. In fact, I kind of hate it. Biggest turn off of my life. Really, it is.

"None. Well, I mean, I don't count guys as being hot, in fact I try not to check them out. But, I can give you their numbers, and you can always see for yourself." I give Sammy the death glare of doom. No reaction.

_--BobbyPOV_

Watching these boys is like watching a train wreck. I swear. "Dean, shut up," I tell him, then look at Sam, "You, too," suddenly I'm not really in the mood for the banter and implications that Dean's flaming gay. Not that it isn't usually funny. I guess hospitals wear me down some. I've spent too much time in them. Usually for people who have survived an attack by some monster…or maybe because no hospital could save my wife. Then again, no one could. She was possessed. Dean told me about John, and how they knew it was the yellow eyed son of a bitch in him. Just about broke my heart. So, Dean, you know your father is possessed by an evil creature when he's being nice to you. Damnit John.

"Dean, I'm gonna find a nurse, and we're gonna leave. You're looking better, and as far as I can tell, you're just high, not still sick." He looks at me. "Apparently eating freeze dried mystery meat and drinking a lot doesn't really help you survive." Dean gives me that look, the one John used to give me when I told him he was too hard on his boys. I want to smack it off his face. "Damnit Dean…you look just like your father," I say, before going off to find a nurse.


End file.
